The French Insult
by jossujb
Summary: Professor Litefoot idly compliments French!Jago's physique. Regular Jago couldn't be more insulted. Or bemused. One or two.


Professor Litefoot often found himself regretting his own badly worded sentiments. It's quite a nuisance. Whenever he thinks he's making a neutral, perhaps a curious point, he ends up putting a foot in his mouth. That, or Mr. Jago was intentionally understanding everything in the most argument-causing way.

"For heavens sake _George!_ What in a good Earth's - also known as this planet we float upon at this precise moment – name you mean by claiming you preferred me French!?"

"Don't be ridiculous old chap. You're twisting my words for vanity's sake, I never said such a thing."

"Slim and sophisticated were your own advocating adjectives you yourself reserved for _him,_ who was a mere mirror of my authentic person! You called that willowy wimp of a man elegant and energetic! Why, what is the great Henry Gordon Jago, but energetic!"

Jago was quite excellent when it came to arguing, as Litefoot had to agree. He used all the right emphasis' and emotional weight someone in legitimate distress would. It was all for a ruse, but Litefoot rarely picked up an underlying motive. Not before he had twinged his own wispy whiskers in agony. Alas, Litefoot wasn't a particular good interpreter of melodramatic antics.

"He was hardly willowy, as you may recall. He was still _you._ From a skewed alternative history, but nonetheless, very much you. And I can't believe, that even in a vast sea of all possible histories, there could exist any non-stout Jagos."

And there was another word he probably should not have used. It slipped off his tongue faster than he had any room for second guessing. Jago looked like he might turn as colourful as a Montgolfier's hot air balloon – unevenly red and spotted.

"Stout! Stout! I've never been insulted more in my life!" Jago huffed and puffed, "Excluding the previous time you wounded me with such cruelty. I say, I believe you, my wicked, wicked Litefoot, derive some sort of diabolical glee from bedevilling me for my best bodily proportions!"

"Nothing like it, I assure you. I was just saying, the French cuisine, alongside style and culture did seem to have - and I mean this in the most well-meaning and objective way - a graceful effect."

"You couldn't stab me deeper between my bony case of ribs even if you tried."

At this point Litefoot was starting to catch the end tail of Jago's real reason to be so sour. He's craving for flattery! How typical. Never associate with an actor if you can help it! They want nothing but ego-stroking fluffy talk in their ears. Jago's pride was especially well developed. If he didn't get the praise he felt he deserved, he found reasons to be moody, therefore giving Litefoot reasons to coo.

Petty and childish behaviour, sure. Litefoot took a breath and composed himself.

"Well, while you're, metaphorically speaking, bleeding out of your vital organs, could you please listen for a second? I admit I found all our variable selves from other dimensions intriguing. But there is only one Henry Gordon Jago I can handle. I only need one Jago and I only want one Jago. I wouldn't pick anyone but my original - in all his stoutness, roundness and hard-headedness it comes with."

Jago sniffled his round and very much reddish nose a bit.

"I refuse to believe that was a _compliment._ If it was, it was a rampantly rubbish sort."

"If I kissed you right now, would that appease your bad temper? Or are you going to mope about this for the rest of the evening? I come prepared with a book I might read if you won't join me in the bed."

"Oh no Litefoot. You better give out something far superior and superfluous than mere mashing mushy messy meat floppers together. Make a better offer. And haste, I don't have time to snap at you the whole day."

"For crying out loud - - - !" Litefoot cried and for a short moment entertained a thought of stomping out of the cabin. He should go straight into the bar lounge of this wretched ship Fata Morgana and play equally annoyed. But then he saw a bemused beam in his friend's eyes and well…

All academic knowledge and shaped intelligence to be damned! Litefoot was just as childish as his friend.

"Alright, alright. I see what you're going for", said Litefoot, "How about undressing, while I revisit my ideas of my lips and where they might find ways on your body?"

" _Ow, corks"_ , huffed Jago, getting a shade redder all over his puffed face. Litefoot rolled his eyes on the seeming hurry to loosen his collar all of a sudden.

"Don't start that with me , Henry! You know, I might believe you enjoy getting your feelings hurt for nonsensical reasons."

Jago shrugged his shoulders in vague but somewhat apologetic way.

"Oh, what can I say Professor… your means of reassurance are something to revel upon. Now, give me that kiss you kindly mentioned."

On the other hand, if Litefoot was more considerate with his wordings, he might never have so many reasons to settle these little tiffs. It's always the settlement that made all little snips worth it. Know what they say, a lover's quarrel is only a good warm-up for the love we dare not describe here in detail.

 **FIN**


End file.
